


don't burn the bridge

by Zekkass



Series: Dragons and Harpies [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Gen, Slavery, dragon!Tony, harpy!Sam, lord!Steve, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 04:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1844362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zekkass/pseuds/Zekkass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dragon cursed to obey whoever holds his heart, a lord out to defend his lands from a rogue knight armed with that heart, and the consequences of morals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't burn the bridge

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: Sam's not in this nearly as much as I wanted, so I'm planning a sidequel or prequel dealing with how Steve made a friend in a harpy. But as it's not written yet, if you're only here for Sam, er, sorry.
> 
> Okay! This was written for hc-bingo over at LJ, and also for pandelion, who gave me the idea in the first place and then stayed up to egg it on. It's a fill for the square 'theft'.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Steve drives his sword through the other knight's stomach without stopping, expression stony as he tears his sword out sidewise, a show of strength that sends his opponent's allies running - it's not the only reason they're running.

He looks down at the dying man, nudging him over onto his back with his boot.

"I'll see you get a burial," Steve says. "If only because you didn't order him to breathe fire. That was decent of you."

That's the only time he wastes as he cuts the strap of the bag with the tip of his sword, using it to lift the entire bag up until he's got it in his hands and open.

The dragon's heart is brighter than he expected, and it glows blue-white besides. It feels faintly warm to the touch, thrumming with power.

Above him the skies fall silent, and he looks up, breathing out. He _was_ in time.

"Come down here," he calls, gripping the heart tightly, wondering if he'll need to order the dragon not to land on him.

He doesn't. The dragon lands, golden eyes staring at him with barely-veiled curiosity and disdain, scales red with more than the natural coloring. His claws are still dripping, and Steve does not want this object in his hands.

As now that he has it, if he ever lets go of it, this dragon will rend him in two without hesitation and flee with it, free once again to menace men and dragons alike.

Steve steels himself and sheaths his sword. His packs are with his horse, and his horse is a fair distance away from the fighting. If he has the dragon use his human form - no. He won't make the arrogant creature do that, even if he might just deserve it.

"I'm Steve Rogers," he introduces himself. "I'm told you're called Tony. Is this true?"

The dragon - Tony, now - dips its head once. "What do I call you?"

Language, understanding, intelligence. Steve realizes all of a sudden that he _can't_ do this. The knight's death was warranted. Slavery of an intelligent, feeling being - he tries not to let anything show. Not yet.

"Steve. I'm not going to make you call me sir," Steve says. He takes a breath, eager to run and check on his allies and friends and leave this dragon alone with his heart without saying anything, but he has to do this properly. "I'm going to be honest with you, Tony. I don't want your heart. I want nothing to do with this slavery."

"Then hand it over." A flat tone, uncompromising. Of course the dragon doesn't look anything but wary.

Steve takes another breath, deeper this time. "How well do you know these lands?"

"Please. I've lived here for over four centuries."

"Willingly?"

Silence.

"Four hundred years," Steve says, trying not to sound as sick as he feels. "Places change a lot in a decade, let alone a century. If you're going to go back to where you were living - I won't be able to stop you."

There. He sees it now. He's fired hope in this dragon, and if he goes back on what he's implying now, this dragon _will_ tear him apart. But if he doesn't - if he doesn't - he has a chance of surviving this intact.

"If you fly due east for...I don't know how fast you fly. It's two weeks on horseback. There's a mountain range that's only sparsely populated. If you want somewhere safe to live, we can make arrangements. I'll send gold if it'll keep you from raiding the locals."

The dragon laughs and keeps laughing, provoked into a fit, and Steve restrains the urge to sigh. He knows it must sound crazy to someone who's been a slave for - four hundred years. He has trouble wrapping his mind around it.

"What's keeping me from raiding your castle?" The dragon says, laughter dying away to a deadly seriousness.

"Your sense of honor," Steve says. "My court mages. You've met Sam already. You'd also need to hide your heart somewhere, first, and I don't think you could hide it and leave it alone after that long."

He's never seen a dragon look so wary and pathetically hopeful at the same time. He never wants to see it again.

"If you want to talk to me - I'm the lord of these lands - approach the castle on foot. You'll be questioned before anyone attacks you. I'll see to it."

And - he takes another breath, staying calm - and he steps forward, holding out the heart in both hands. No catches. Just him trusting a dragon's sense of honor.

Natasha would call him needlessly reckless and optimistic.

He thinks he has this dragon's measure - and Sam's nearby, if things go wrong. He's not alone.

Tony stares at him for a few seconds, then seems to come to his senses and grab the thing, lifting it right out of his hold with talons that are still wet with what is probably Sam's blood.

Steve doesn't make a move. Tony scoots back, wings opening, looking almost scared.

"Good luck," Steve says, and Tony's gaze snaps to him. There's fear and gratitude, and all of a sudden Tony's beating his wings frantically and flying out of there, faster than he's ever seen any bird fly.

Steve lets his hands fall to his side and breathes out, closing his eyes briefly, shoulders slumping. He did it.

For better or for worse - he smiles to himself, and his smile widens when he hears wingbeats again, looking up - there's Sam, and if he can fly, he's alright.

"He's not coming back?" Sam asks, descending to awkwardly land on the ground, his taloned feet unsteady on level ground.

"I don't know," Steve says. "But he's free, and I owe this man a burial."

"Steve?" Sam asks, informality he can get away with because he's the lord's friend and sometimes bodyguard.

"Yeah?"

"Good call."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [the empty space to fill](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8069962) by [KayinTruth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayinTruth/pseuds/KayinTruth)




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